Mnemosyne
by Naphyla
Summary: COMPLETE. AU Pre-slash. In his career as Auror, Harry had never seen such a peculiar case. His job had taught him that evidence was everything to make a fact true and a lie false, but he discovers that evidence isn't everything.


**Author's Note: **This story was the oddest one I've written so far. (If you've read my other works, you'll probably see why.) "Mnemosyne" has shifted from my original draft quite a bit, but I think I'm happy with the results. Anyways, enjoy!

**Summary:** AU HPDM Pre-slash. In his career as an Auror, Harry had never seen such a peculiar case. His job had taught him that evidence was everything to make a fact true and a lie false, but he will discover that evidence isn't everything.

**More Notes: **The story took place right after the sixth book, where the battle between the light and the dark broke out immediately.

* * *

**Mnemosyne**

The brunet gasped for breaths as he dashed his way through the empty corridor. He had been chasing the figure in front of him for…he didn't even know how long. In fact, all he could focus on at the moment was to run.

_Except it's harder than you think when you have to chase after something as intangible as him._

***

Harry heard the doors shut behind him with a heavy thud. He had never imagined that this day would come. The sound of his heels against black marble echoed as he proceeded through the main hall. Every piece, every inch of it, was tailored and matched perfectly; a fine fit for someone of high class, if not of royalty.

As he proceeded to the corridor that branched off from the main hall, the magnificence vanished. Frames lay scattered on the walls — most of them empty. He stole a glance as he passed by the drawing room. Everything had been removed, sparing only the dark green carpet. It was nothing like he'd remembered when he was brought here by Greyback. Without the expensive furnishings, the room looked deserted, ancient, and naked even — like an animal stripped of its skin and flesh. This was exactly what Malfoy Manor had become: nothing but a skeleton.

Harry turned away from the drawing room and looked down at his feet, and he found his own reflection on the black stone waiting. He had long grown out of his school boy look. Instead of his jumbled uniform, he wore tidy navy-blue robes. He had even managed to tame his hair a fair bit using a Permanence Charm. The agitated boy had almost completely faded, and in his place was a poised, calm young man. He was twenty-three, but perhaps one of the most competent Aurors in the department. Which was why he was put on this case in the first place.

Malfoy Manor was to be placed on auction in less than a week. Its location as Headquarters for the Death Eaters during the war had not diminished its reputation as much as some would have expected. In fact, plans were made for this auction soon after the end of the war. When Lucius Malfoy was put under arrest, the Ministry placed restrictions upon restrictions on the Manor. Narcissa Malfoy had gone a great length to remove the restrains placed on her home. Harry had been there when she stormed the Ministry countless times demanding for her husband and her properties back. Not one day had gone without gossips and rumours circulated every part of magical London. Some thought she had finally tossed away that useless pride of hers and turned to practicality, while others thought her madden by grief. Her attempts proved to be futile.

Three weeks after his arrest, Lucius was tried and put in Azkaban. Two months after that, he was Kissed. Narcissa's death followed not long after. With them gone, the Ministry had more room to act, but there was still one last obstacle: Draco Malfoy.

No one knew where he went after the war. In fact, he had not even been present during the Final Battle. When Death Eaters were asked to reveal his location under Veritaserum, they seemed to have no idea. Lucius had been questioned briefly before his death, but his answer had been the same as everyone else. The Ministry had expected the young Malfoy to have fled England. More Death Eaters had been rounded up from foreign countries, but there was still no sign of Malfoy. Some had suspected that he had died during the war, so the Ministry tried to dig up every corpse they could find. Unfortunately for them, his body was yet to be found. It was like he had vanished from the face of Earth.

Since Draco was the only heir to the Malfoy fortune, transferring of any properties required his written as well as his magical signature — or proof of his death. By law, if a master is convicted of a crime, he or she is given five years to decide whether or not to accept or to reject the Ministry's proposal. If the master gives no reply to the terms, or is unable to reply to the terms, either due to death or memory loss, then the Ministry may execute its own decisions. It had been a long wait on the Ministry's part, but it had been worth it. At least now, no one could stop them.

He tilted his head to examine the high ceiling. Much like the enchantments placed in the Great Hall, the ceiling projected the sky outside like a one-way glass. He could see the dark clouds outside, swimming peacefully in the deep blue sky. The stars would come out of hiding from beneath the clouds once in a while, then fade back into darkness. Harry almost felt sorry for the Malfoys when he heard the news. Hundreds of years of history, of legacy — whether good or bad — had come to an end.

The problem was not over. There was one single room that simply could not be opened. Several Aurors had been sent to investigate the problem, but so far no one had been able to solve it. Harry snorted. _What made them think that I could solve this case?_ Being Harry Potter didn't mean that he could solve mysteries in a snap.

The brunet came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, where a set of doors were placed. _This is it_, he thought as he reached for his wand. He pointed it at the handle and muttered, "_Alohomora." _As expected, there was no spark nor click that indicated the spell had worked. He tried another Unlocking Charm — a stronger one this time — but there was still no reaction. Several others were cast after but none of them seemed to work, either. Besides, it was not like the other Aurors forgot that Unlocking Charms existed.

A wrinkle found its way between Harry's brows. Whatever spell was placed on these doors, it was quite unique indeed. He could sense weak wards around him, though they would have been stronger if the caster had not left it unattended. Harry could easily dissipate them, but since he could pass through them unharmed, he left them as they were. Wondering if the spell was a curse, he muttered a charm that could identify the types of spells placed on these doors. A speck of white light emerged from his wand and met the door with a sound that resembled bell chimes. The light lingered for several seconds, but eventually faded into nothingness. His frown deepened. It seems that there were no spells placed on the door to prevent it from being opened. No charms. No curses. Nothing.

Harry's attention was now drawn to the doorknob. Curiously, he reached his hand for it. His Auror instincts flashed "caution", but he repressed it at once. _Even if there are poisons on it,_ he thought, _common poisons all have antidotes, and uncommon ones are complicated enough to scare brewers away simply with their recipes. _

His thoughts were cut off as his fingers came in contact with the bronze handle. White-hot pain spread across his palms and quickly extended throughout his body. Before he could utter a sound, darkness enclosed him, and then he felt himself falling.

***

"Mother!"

Harry opened his eyes at the sound of the voice. The blackness that concealed his sight faded like a mist, and he suddenly found himself standing on a patch of green. He looked around the garden curiously. He could even _smell_ the freshness of the newly-cut grass and _feel_ the moisture against his skin.

"Mother!" The voice sounded a second time, mingled with childish giggles. Harry lifted his head up and noticed a figure sitting on a bench by the oak tree. A woman. The brunet knew who she was from the way she arranged her legs and knit her fingers together gingerly on top of her knees. He had seen it so many times in the Ministry that he could memorize and predict her next move, but the Narcissa Malfoy in front of him was much younger than he remembered.

Out of the corners of his eyes, Harry noticed another figure running up and down in a field of lilies. He immediately recognized him. It was none other than Draco Malfoy. The boy continued to hop and run until he was within the shade of the ancient oak. Narcissa conjured a handkerchief from her wand and began patting his cheeks and forehead with it. The boy was still panting, but he stood still until his mother finished.

"Are you tired, Draco?"

"Yes. A little." Narcissa Vanished the handkerchief and began to caress the boy's hair. Draco smiled, a gesture so innocent and angelical. Harry was positive that this boy wasn't the same one he had quarrelled with in Hogwarts. Other than their physical resemblances, they were nothing alike.

"I think that was enough for today." Narcissa rised from the bench and held her hand out to the boy. He took it instantly, though his smile had faded somewhat. As mother and son walked towards the Manor hand in hand, the scene faded in darkness once again.

The next minute, he saw the dark wooden doors and felt the solid bronze knob underneath his fingers. He stood there and remained disbelieved, while questions crashed down on him like lightning bolts, one after another. If he were not mistaken — a small chance of that happening — this was Malfoy's memory.

_But why is it here?_

And then he caught locks of platinum-blonde passing where the two hallways intersected. It belonged to Draco Malfoy.

For a moment, Harry felt himself stepping back through time. The boy was shorter, and still had a pinch of baby fat left in his cheeks. He looked like he was in fourth, no, third year. _Perhaps it was a Glamour_, he thought. _But why would he make himself look younger?_ The Auror marched over to the boy as he ruminated on his observations.

"Another Auror?" Malfoy noted him, and spoke. His voice was thinner than Harry had remembered in school. The blonde showed a mixture of disgust and hatred as the brunet stepped closer. Harry realized that he was able to read Malfoy's expressions better than he could before, too.

The blonde squinted his eyes, as if trying to spot something on Harry's visage. It was seconds later that something resembled recognition flashed across Malfoy's features. The boy stepped back with clenching fists, and broke into a run. "Wait!" Harry called as he instinctively chased after the other.

As he turned a corner, Malfoy was gone, as if the event prior was nothing but an illusion. Oddly enough, the paintings still had figures in them; there were also several vases and tables along the corridors. Then, he heard footsteps coming his way, and he hid behind the old armour just on his right.

Lucius Malfoy came in sight. Harry stared at the man in utter disbelief.

_I thought he was—_

Then he noticed the small boy following behind. It was Draco.

_Another memory?_

"Draco, what did I tell you?" Lucius asked without turning to look at his son.

"'Don't enter the Northern Gardens.'"

Suddenly, the man veered around. "So should you, or should you not have entered the Northern Gardens?" Lucius's voice was even and cool — not the least bit angry. Yet, the small boy hunched his back and squirmed under his father's eyes.

"No, Father," he whispered. Lucius went on staring at his son for a moment longer, and continued walking again.

"As punishment for your behaviour, you will receive no meal today." The boy looked up, about to complain, but then he quickly bowed his head, afraid that his father might have caught that expression. "To your room." The two of them reached the end of the hall and turned to the right. Harry came out from behind the armour and followed after. When he reached the turned, the two had vanished.

Then he caught a swirl of grey fabric near the shadows, and knew that he was heading in the right direction. He did not remember how many corners he turned, or how many flights of stairs he climbed, until the blonde finally turned around to face him.

"What do you want from me, Potter?" Malfoy shouted, with an annoyance Harry had never known he had possessed. In his memories, Malfoy was always the sly one — the one who knew how to control his emotions as well as others'.

"Why are you running?"

"_You_ are the reason I'm running." The blonde clenched his fist as he hissed, "Aren't you the Auror sent to investigate Malfoy Manor? Why won't the Ministry just _leave us alone_? I won't give up my home to that bunch of corrupt, manipulative bastards!"

"Then why don't you go to the Minister and tell him yourself?"

"If I could, don't you think I would have gone to him already?" Malfoy snapped. "And it's none of your goddamn business what I do. Now just go back and tell your Minister that I won't give up this house!" With that, the boy turned and started running.

_Where is he supposed to go when there's a wall right in front of—_

The strangest thing happened before Harry's eyes. Malfoy's body passed right through the stones — first his hands, then his head, then his torso, and finally his legs.

_Is he a ghost? Possibly. But he doesn't look transparent, and neither does he seem to float._ Harry pondered. _But ghosts can choose to leave the house whch they occupy anytime they like. Even if they were bound to it by spell, there are ways to get around it._

He finally pulled himself away from his thoughts, but realized that he had no idea where he was. "Point Me," he whispered as he placed the wand in the palm of his hand. Instead of pointing to the direction Malfoy had gone to, the wand began to spin out of control. Thinking that a ward was placed around the Manor, Harry ended his spell. Instead of trying again, he walked towards the first hallway he saw. _Might as well investigate some more while I'm still here._

He walked past a statue and found his way to the main stairs. It was a splendid view, looking down at the floor below; the black marble beneath had been enchanted to shine in certain sequences that crafted the Malfoy crest. The Manor was designed with such precision and care — it was truly a work of art dedicated to the Malfoys, and the Malfoys only. _The Irony._

As he headed in the other direction, footsteps sounded in the distance. "So what's Harry Potter like?" Harry heard a female ask.

"Nobody important," a childish, arrogant voice answered. Narcissa stepped into sight, with Draco following suit. In comparison with the previous memories, the blonde looked older and resembled more like the spoiled brat Harry knew at school.

"Now, why would you say that, dearest? You used to be _obsessed_ with seeing the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Yes, Mother. I did. But not anymore." The young Malfoy furrowed his brows. "He hates me." The boy paused momentarily, then quickly added, "…but I hate him more."

"I see." After that, Narcissa said no more. The two of them continued walking, and Harry was right behind them. As they entered another path, the figures of the woman and the child evaporated, but he did recognize the familiar blonde in light-grey robes. Malfoy started, but quickly caught himself and took off. And Harry was off to another game of cat and mouse.

"Stop prying into my past!" Harry heard the blonde yell from in front. "Just leave the Manor already!" He could hear desperation ringing as he spoke. Never one day had Harry thought he would hear that voice.

"I'm not prying into your past. It's not like I chose to see them." Then something hit him. _The memories must be happening for a reason. Maybe it could reveal why Malfoy is in the state he is in right now._

Malfoy, as if sensing his thoughts, climbed another flight of stairs and fled past a set of doors. Harry quickly followed, pushing past the heavy doors standing in his way. Brilliance engulfed the room as he stepped inside. The room, dazzled with lights of silver and gold, was alive with dancing figures wearing the most stunning, elegant attires. Music sounded in every corner and not an ounce of space was wasted in the magnificent decorations. The center of the ballroom would naturally have been breath-taking and the core of attention. Yet it was not. To the right of the stairs were the host and hostess of this evening gathering, Lucius and Narcissa — whom were surrounded by numerous guests eager to converse with the Malfoys. Harry scanned the room once more and spotted Draco near one of the large windows, wearing black robes that brought out his light complexion. Several girls had come to greet him, probably to ask for a dance, but all of them were dismissed by the blonde. Finally, he agreed to a brunette in an opaque gown and headed to the dance floor. Harry watched them move, their bodies swaying and twirling flawlessly. When the music ceased, Draco excused himself from the brunette and returned to the spot near the windows again. Harry walked over to the blonde. As much as he hated to probe into others' minds — even if it were just memories — his intuitions told him that the answer to his questions were nearby.

"Draco!" The Auror was startled by Narcissa's entrance. She had on a striking dark green dress that matched the draperies and carpets in the room perfectly. "How do you find the party? After all, it _is_ for you."

"As usual, Mother. Wonderfully organized." The blonde curved his lips, though Harry could tell that the smile did not reach his eyes. "You must excuse me. I am feeling a bit exhausted from my trip back from Hogwarts. I will be back before the party is over." Without waiting for a reply, Malfoy bid his mother goodbye and left the ball. Harry was behind him in a flash.

Instead of fire and candles, it was sunlight that greeted the corridor. Malfoy appeared moments later, wearing a white sweater and a pair of slacks this time. He was slightly taller than the one Harry saw just now. As he passed by, the Auror noticed the house-elf behind him, struggling to keep up.

"Master Draco, where do you want your luggage?"

"Leave it for now. I will retrieve it in a while." The house-elf nodded and, with a pop, was gone. The blonde continued with his quiet strides. He came to a halt in front of a room, removed several charms, and stepped inside. Harry darted through before the boy shut the door.

Once inside, the brunet saw Malfoy's calmness crumble to pieces. Raising his wand, the blonde shouted incantations one after another, destroying books and vases and tables and curtains until everything was branded with his spells. Finally, boy knelt, as if defeated, and began sobbing. He reached under his bed and took out a pile of newspaper clippings. A gust of wind sent them flying.

"No!" Harry saw the Malfoy he was chasing after emerging from the walls. "Don't look!"

Before Harry had time to register, he noticed a figure moving across the cut out piece of the Prophet.

The face imprinted on light grey was none but his own.

He looked at another, and another, and another. They were all him — pictures of his Quidditch matches, of the events of Triwizard tournament he had gone through. He found himself turning toward the blonde to seek for answers, but found nothing except for fear in the orbs of stormy grey. The blonde took a step back and collapsed.

"No," he shook his head and whispered. "No, no, no, no, no! You weren't supposed to find out. You weren't supposed to know!" The memory began to break and dissolve. "It was a stupid infatuation. A delusion, that's all. That's right. They're not real" the blonde mumbled in a shaky voice.

"Malfoy…" Harry reached out to the blonde, but only to be rejected as Malfoy slapped away his extended arm.

"Don't touch me, Potter! I don't need your pity. I know you hate me from the bottom of your—"

"I don't hate you," Harry said. "I never did." The brunet paused, letting his words fully sink into the silence before he continued. "I was quite annoyed by your arrogance and behaviours back then, but nothing strong like hate." He approached the blonde again, extending his arm for the second time. "If circumstances had been different, I think our rivalry would turn out to be something less unpleasant."

Malfoy stared from him to his hand. A curve formed on his lips. It was unlike any other expression Harry had seen from him before. It was a smile — a genuine smile. The boy raised his hand and reached for Harry's. Whether it was the smile or his imagination, the room seemed to glow brighter and brighter, until all he could see was white. Harry shielded his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was back at where he began as if he never left in the first place. Turning back to his original task, Harry noticed that the previously unopened room now had a slit between the two sets of oak-wood doors. He stepped inside.

"That was quite an interesting piece of memory." Harry heard the familiar hiss of a voice.

"P–please, My Lord. They were just stupid, misled memories of my childhood—"

"Childhood, you say?" The pitch of Voldemort's voice was unbearable. "I wonder how long ago that was." The snake-like man strolled with a careless pace, eyeing the blonde as if he were his prey. "I thought you had sworn to be my faithful servant, young Malfoy." The man gave Malfoy no time to answer. He waved his wand and the boy was on his knees, screaming in pain.

"M–Master. I didn't mean…to like him," Malfoy gasped. "I–I hate him! We're enemies!"

"Really now?" Voldemort pulled his wand a little higher, and Malfoy screamed even louder. "Are you sure this isn't some kind of elaborate lie to fool your Master?"

"M–My Lord. I would…never do such…a thing! I have vowed to serve you…and only you!" Voldemort stared at him impassively, as if not hearing the blonde's last statement. Harry watched all this happen, yet he was unable to do anything about it. He did not know how long it had been since the torture began, but he could hear Malfoy's voice dying into a hoarse cry, and finally, it could no longer be heard. It was then that Voldemort decided to end the spell.

Malfoy was down on the floor, eyes barely open. He gasped greedily for air, as if breathing for the first time.

"Under any other circumstance, you would've been dead already, young Malfoy. But war is waiting to be won." The Dark Lord bent down and slid his fingers across the blonde's cheeks. "I hope this will teach you not to lie to me again."

"Yes…My Lord," the boy whispered. The man curved his lips. He picked Draco up and stroked his hair. The boy was too tired and too frightened to move.

"But just in case you decide otherwise…" The blonde opened his eyes as he felt the Dark Lord's wand on his back. "I shall bind you to this house until I return."

With that, Voldemort pulled the wand away from the boy. As he did so, Malfoy screamed. At the tip of his wand was a shining, almost transparent thread. With a flick, the string came detached, and at that moment the blonde went limp. The man walked over to the walls and placed the thread onto its surface until it was absorbed.

The memory faded.

***

_Four Years Later…_

"Hey mate, where're you going?" Harry turned around and saw Ron coming down the hall. "The boys were wondering if you wanted to go and have a drink."

"Sorry Ron. Not tonight." Harry smiled. "I've got an appointment."

Harry strolled past the forest. It was the same path he had taken for the past four years. He raised his head and saw the familiar mansion looming ahead, guiding him — almost welcoming him.

He stepped inside the Manor and navigated through the corridors. He found himself in front of the same room years back. He turned the knob and it opened without resistance.

"Hi there, Malfoy," Harry said. "I've come to bother you again."

No reply.

Harry smiled. He was not expecting one anyways. He set down his stuff and sat on an arm chair beside the sofa, where Malfoy was. When the Auror had first found him, the boy was curled into a ball on the floor as he had seen in the memory. Harry had decided to pick him up and put him somewhere comfortable. When he left the Manor, he had reported his findings, but no one took it seriously. They had then sent in more Aurors to remove Malfoy's body. Unfortunately, they were never able to find it.

The auction went on as planned, and the rumours did not seem to discourage anyone from bidding. In the end, the Ministry was happy with the final bid, and of course, the bidder was content with that fact that now he could truly live in an artefact. That was only the beginning.

Two weeks later, the bidder stormed into the Ministry and demanded his money back. The Ministry had refused, but after three months worth of harassment, it finally gave in. Several other auctions were held, and the same thing happened each time. The bidders had claimed that the walls of Malfoy Manor constantly shifted, trapping them inside like a maze, as if the Manor had a will of its own. Several more investigations followed, but all of them turned out to be unsuccessful. Half a year later, the Ministry officially abandoned the idea of auctioning Malfoy Manor, and that was the end of the case.

Well, at least it should have been.

It was his curiosity and impulsiveness that had brought Harry back to the Manor just over two years ago. The image of the ghostly boy had been knocking in the back of his head for long enough, he decided. Why it bothered him, he didn't know. He only knew that he needed to see Malfoy again. He remembered that he used to spend hours — days even, at times — waiting for the ghost to show up. Years went by, and he did not see the boy again.

Harry's impulses were long gone; he was content with just sitting here, watching the blonde as he slept, and spilling just about everything to the boy. Coming to the Manor was a nice change from the suffocating and overwhelming atmosphere of the Ministry.

"I guess you should be happy." The brunet walked over to the table and poured himself a glass of water. He took a quick sip and continued. "The Ministry finally left you alone." Strolling back to the sofa, Harry noticed that moonlight had found its way through the thin space between the curtains. He pulled the thick layers of fabric aside, letting the room be showered in light. Securing the curtains behind a hook, Harry glanced back at the blonde. Under the corona, Malfoy looked unearthly, as if he were a forsaken creature of the myths.

"You know, I still can't believe that you never hated me." Harry heard himself chuckle. "In fact, I thought you hated me more than anyone else. I thought that if you were given the chance, you would've killed me every time you saw me." He took another sip, a longer one this time. "Never in a million years would I have thought otherwise. I mean, all the evidences pointed to this one fact: 'Malfoy hates Potter'."

"Maybe on the surface." Harry wheeled around and saw the same blonde from years back, standing right in front of him. "Do you hate me for what I've done?" The brunet smiled.

"It would be a lie to say that I wasn't hurt." Something resembling pain flashed through Malfoy's eyes, but was gone in an instant. "But no, I don't hate you for what you've done." He offered his answer again, the same one four years ago. "I never have." The boy nodded his head, and in a blink of an eye, he was gone again. Harry sighed. _It was all I've asked for._

Turning back to look at the boy on the sofa, Harry noticed that something was different about him. He saw movements underneath the blanket — a rhythmic rise and fall of the chest. Seconds later, the blonde opened his eyes.

For a long time, Harry just went on staring at Malfoy, speechlessly, not believing that after all these years of waiting, the boy had finally woken up. Finally, a smile touched his own lips.

"Welcome home, Malfoy."

**FINIS**


End file.
